


stray code

by sushicorps (Inclinant)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Connor adopts a roomba, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Humour, Living Together, M/M, Roombas, and little potted plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inclinant/pseuds/sushicorps
Summary: In Connor’s mind, it is simple:Hank has Sumo.Connor? Connor has Bob.“Connor,  what the hell is th-...is that aroomba?”





	1. Chapter 1

 

The paperwork has three blank sections for a name and only one of the fields has the instruction (optional) written over the lines.

 

Connor pauses.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

Hank throws down his coffee - black, no sugar except on Mondays _[today]_ \- and peers at him over the rim.

 

“...What now.”

 

He pushes the form across the table, gingerly out of the way of the syrup that’s spilled over it. _[Syrup, maple]_ Typically paired with another consumable food item called pancakes. Yesterday morning, Hank had said that he ‘whips up’ _[makes]_ a 'mean'  _[good]_ pancake. The flat round cakes had registered quite pleasantly in Connor’s scent sensors even if he had been unable to consume them. Hank had looked disappointed for a moment, before proceeding to eat the stack for himself.

 

“I do not have a last name designated.”

 

“Just put whatever you want - hell, put Anderson if you want to,” Hank snorts, and he’s back to his coffee.

 

_Connor Anderson,_ Connor thinks to himself.

 

“Okay Hank.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s a plant,” Officer Tina says. “For your desk.”

 

“Thank you,” Connor says, receiving the plant with both hands and transferring the small pot on his desk. The pot is barely larger than his hands and the small leaves of the plants brush against his fingers as he holds it.

 

Cupped in his hands, it feels small, feels like something precious.

 

He pauses and stares at the tiny sprouts for a moment before his thoughts occur to him.

 

“Why-”

 

Tina shrugs. “It’s a thing people do I guess, put plants on their desk. Because we’re stuck in here all day and can’t go out and see nature. Makes us feel more alive? I dunno, anyway we all have one.”

 

She frowns at the desk next to Connor’s, where a half eaten McDonald meal is tipped out of a paper bag all over the top, ketchup spilling over.

 

“Well, ‘cept Hank because he can’t even keep a cactus alive. Rest in peace, Hankinator the cactus.”

 

And then Collins is calling her over and she’s gone.

 

Connor stares at the plant - Crassulaceae, also known as stonecrop or orpine family of plants, a type of dicotyledons with succulent leaves, his database identifies. Up close, the green is greener than anything he’s seen, greener than the plants in the garden which’d always had grey at the edges. The edges of its leaves are soft and damp to touch, leaving a strange buzzing sensation beneath his fingertips.

 

“Oy Connor, where the hell is that report for that break and entry - oh huh, I see you’ve adopted something new,” Hank remarks as he crowds around Connor’s desk, resting a hand heavily on his shoulder.

 

The Lieutenant had been put on medical leave last week to rest the ankle that he had twisted on their previous case while definitely _not_ trying to show off that he’s still ‘got it’ _[trying to achieve physical feats best left to Connor to be honest]_ while they chased down their skateboarding perp.

 

There’s a strange buzzing sensation there too, where Hank’s palm makes contact with his uniform.

 

“Officer Chen said that humans keep plants on their desk,” He folds his hands and looks at the plant. “She seems to think that I should have one too.”

 

“Ah yeah, we humans do that, dunno why. Maybe it’s cuz we like taking care of something smaller than us. Even if it’s a vegetable,” He snorts at the plant, then scowls at his computer terminal. “Damn thing is being buggy again.”

 

Connor can’t help it - he reaches over and snaps his fingers and the terminal screen flickers to life.

 

Hank rolls his eyes.“Show-off.”

 

“Well Lieutenant, maybe it likes me because I don’t spill ketchup over it.”

 

“Go talk to your damn plant,” He growls, only half-irritably, and grabs his tablet and makes for Captain Fowler’s office.

 

Connor smiles to himself.

 

He is starting to quite like the plant.

 

[It turns out he likes plants a lot]

 

* * *

 

The cops that had arrived at the crime scene first had said that the house was empty, at least, that is until they all hear the sound coming from behind the utility closet.

 

It’s a strange, low buzzing sound that no one can place and Connor braces himself even as he gingerly opens the door, first in line with the beat cops after him because it’s still unspoken that the Android first policy still stands.

 

Hank isn’t with him this time either. Connor takes a breath even though he doesn’t really need it, then slams his shoulder in the door to reveal-

 

It’s frankly very anticlimactic.

 

This latest case that had fallen to the Android Crimes Unit involves a missing MP-800 model, which had mainly a been designed to be a household android. It has all the equipment to clean and maintain a household, so there is no reason why it should have something like this.

 

Connor kneels down and carefully taps the roomba, watching as it whirls around in one circle to face him. It is black, with a little screen on top that has been flashing in distress as it tries and fails to clean the small space that it has been locked in.

 

Its systems are primitive but there’s still a connection port.

 

“Hello,” Connor says softly, hoping the connection works and gasps as the roomba lights up in reply.

 

>H E L L O !

 

“My name is Connor.”

 

> M Y N A M E I S B O B

 

The roomba moves forward to give him a gentle nudge at his feet and Connor smiles, patting the little machine on its head.

 

“Nice to meet you, Bob.”

 

The roomba just gives a happy whirr in reply.

 [and if everyone else looks quite baffled as Connor steps out with Bob under his arms, he ignores them]

* * *

 

It’s past midnight when Connor finally gets back but the lights are still on.

 

“We’re home now,” He tells the roomba at his side as Hank opens the door, a plate with a half-eaten hot pocket still in his hands. Connor frowns at that, wondering if it is time to activate his Health and Wellness programme.

 

“Connor, 'bout time- what the hell is th-...is that a _roomba_?”

 

“This is Bob,” Connor says proudly. The little roomba makes a little whirr and then it gets right to cleaning up the crumbs that Hank had dropped all over the floor.

 

“Good boy, Bob.”

 

Sumo gives an encouraging woof from behind, moving forward to nose the little machine in greeting.

 

Hank stares as the roomba slowly trails around his living room.

 

“You can’t just pick up a roomba from a crime scene.”

 

Connor puts on his best impression of Sumo asking for a treat. _[Hank always pretends he never gives in in front of Connor, but he knows that he slips Sumo treats whenever he thinks Connor isn’t looking anyway.]_

 

“Bob has nowhere else to go.”

 

“Besides, you adopted me from a murder scene,” Connor points out and Hank draws a hand over his face.

 

“More like you barged into my life and never really went away,” He grumbles as he shuts the door after Connor. “And wasn’t it you that dragged me to that damn murder in the first place?”

 

The roomba moves forward slowly, then immediately gets stuck in a pile of wires, yanks on one and sends a lamp crashing to the floor.

 

“Goddammit Connor. Take responsibility for the damn roomba you adopted!”

* * *

 

“Connor _Anderson!?”_

 

And Hank looks around and surveys the ragtag bunch that is Connor clutching Sumo tightly and the slowly growing array of potted plants on every shelf that he has and the damn roomba which has gotten stuck in another corner _again_ and gives up.

 

_“Fine,”_ He growls, tossing the next-of-kin papers back down onto the table and stalking around in a circle for good measure.

 

Really, what has his life become now.

 

Connor carefully gathers the papers up, putting them in a neat pile and setting them aside. Then he looks pensive for a moment, in the way that he gets that Hank knows his system processors can’t decide to ask a question or not.

 

“Does this mean we are married now?”

 

“What?” Hank chokes on his coffee and there’s a crash, oh that’s just his favourite mug. On the floor. In pieces.

 

His brain is trying to comprehend the question, but, okay no, that’s not happening. The stupid roomba runs over his toes as it tries to get to the mess.

 

“What the _fuck?”_

 

“Detective Reed said yesterday that “we’re practically stuck together like an old married couple now’. Upon research, I have learnt that typical benchmarks of establishing of a human family unit consists of sharing a home, maybe a garden and pets, and crucially, the sharing of the same last name -”

 

“...Hank you are going a rather alarming shade of red. It doesn’t seem healthy. Perhaps I should begin my Health and Wellness programme?”

 

“We are _not_ married, why the hell are you listening to what that piece of shit is saying anyway-”

 

“Okay Hank.”

 

“Don’t you ‘okay Hank’ me now Connor look here-”

 

Sumo gives a short, happy bark and the roomba whirls loudly in reply, before promptly skidding over the spilt coffee and crashing into the sofa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just needed Connor with a roomba.
> 
> Edit: Thank you all for the incredibly lovely comments on this fic even though it is just me rambling about my feelings about Connor and roombas!! I'm really so pleasantly surprised and touched. Also, I'm so sorry I'm super slow at replying messages, but I'll get around to replying each and everyone of you and posting more snapshots of their little family life and home full of roombas. Meanwhile, feel free to hmu on twitter/tumblr!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sushicorps.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sushicorps/)


	2. Chapter 2

The break room at 6th Precinct is depressingly tiny, so everyone hears it when Detective Hank Anderson sticks his head behind the door to glare at Connor and goes:

 

“Your _son_ knocked over the lamp again.”

 

And everyone in the office knows by mid-day that RK800, or more commonly known by his designation “Connor”, had crossed his arms and replied.

 

“Oh, so Bob is considered _my_ son now? I seem to detect a pattern whereby he is _my_ son only when he gets into trouble.”

 

The half-eaten sandwich slowly falls out of Collin’s mouth as he gapes at the exchange, then he elbows Tina to get her to look up from her phone.

 

“Since when do they have a son?”

 

“...Who has a _what_ now _?_ ”

 

Collin points up to where Connor has already stood up from the chair where he had been reviewing early memes from the 2010s. Homework from the detective, the android had said. Said detective and android partner are already walking out of the break room, arguing about a broken lamp.

 

“Fuck’s sake, this is the fourth lamp I’ve had to replace-”

 

“And I believe this is the ninth time I have pointed out that a wall-mounted lamp would solve our problem.”

 

“A wall-mounted lamp wouldn’t go with the _style,_ Connor. Think of the interior decorating-”

 

“I didn’t realise interior decorating was an interest of yours, Hank.”

 

Tina frowns at him. “What?”

 

“Nah I must have, misheard,” Collin says and shrugs. His hearing isn’t quite as it is, his wife has been talking about getting it checked and those new bionetic hearing aids. Beyond the fact that it’s a touchy subject, it is a downright daft idea anyway.

 

An android and a detective, _ha,_ he’s heard that one before.

 

* * *

It happens again at the break room, where Brown and Wilson are happily tucking into their lunch, carefully taken late on their shift so that the break room is free of detectives. It’s tough being an officer in this division sometimes, no thanks to the fact that Detectives Anderson and Reed will happily fist fight each other instead of getting any work done. Android Crimes is much, much more productive.

 

And then one of the aforementioned detectives walk pass, scowling at his phone and yelling.

 

“Connor! Your son is stuck in the storeroom. _Again_.”

 

Wilson looks at Brown.

 

Brown looks at Wilson.

 

Then they both shrug and turn back to their lunch.

 

Sometimes it was just better not to question the state of things.  


Then a loud “What the _fuck?”_ cuts through the air and they look back again to see Detective Reed standing where Anderson had just passed, looking absolutely aghast.

 

"Oh well," Brown says and Wilson nods in reply. At least today's turkey sandwich from the cafeteria's not half bad.

 

* * *

 

The crime scene is a messy one - it’s always messy ones this side of town. Miller is by the side of the room, carefully bagging the evidence up even though the air is chilly with winter's bite and all he wants to do is to go home to soup and leftover casserole.

 

Connor has a handful of blue blood that is halfway to his mouth when Detective Anderson stomps into the crime scene, an accusatory look in his eye.

 

“Your _son_ ran into the neighbour’s christmas lights. _And_ the neighbour’s cat.”

 

Miller blinks and just manages to catch the evidence bag before it hits the ground.

 

Connor has this strange look in his eyes. It’s...smug? Miller's never seen the android look like that before, ever.

 

“I never did like that cat. It always tries to sneak over and scratches me whenever I have to bring it back. And it scares Sumo.”

 

“That’s not the fucking point- Don’t tell me you’re _proud_ of this.”

 

The LED ring on Connor’s temple twinkles. “Oh I _am.”_

 

 _“_ Connor, what the hell- and get that damn blood away from your mouth!”

 

* * *

 

Gavin Reed slams the door open like a whirlwind - a whirlwind of spiteful rage and confusion and annoyance that Fowler really doesn’t need right now.

 

“They have a son. _How_ do they have a _son?!”_

 

Fowler groans and reaches up to rub between his pinched brows. “Reed, I don’t care and I don’t want to know. Now get back to work.”

 

“It’s Anderson and that damn android-”

 

“Wait,” Fowler says as Gavin’s words finally register in his mind although he had been trying to block it out. “They have a... _what?”_

 

“A _son_.”

 

Fowler blinks. He can feel his thoughts performing a series of mental gymnastic-esque flips that he’s only seen on Olympic broadcasts.

 

“That’s not... possible-”

 

“Yeah ,that’s what I said, that’s what everyone is saying,” Gavin’s half-yelling now, waving his hands around like a demented jellyfish as he gestures to all of the precinct office. “Except the two of them are running around in the office and the break room and cases and _everywhere_ yelling at each other about their son. Their _son.”_

 

Fowler frowns, then his brain gives up, choosing to save his remaining caffeine-fueled rational thought for the end of year report that the senior management is suddenly urgently asking for.

 

“Whatever it is, son or not, I don’t care, now get out of my office!”

 

* * *

 

There’s bets now.

 

Either Anderson and the android had adopted YK500 unit (highly possible), or they’ve finally driven each other batshit crazy (also equally possible). Or Cyberlife has finally made a major breakthrough in cyber biogenetics (who knows what that mad genius Kamski really gets up to in his free time?).

 

Either that or they both are playing a colossal practical joke on the entire department just to fuck with people.

 

Gavin’s got his bet on that one.

 

And what is up with the lamp anyway?

 

* * *

 

Hank finishes up the last screw and taps the wall lamp to make sure it is firmly attached. Then he looks down at Bob.

 

“There you go you little damn thing. Knock yourself out.”

 

Connor turns on the light a couple of times to make sure the lamp is working even as Bob runs happily into the wall in the warm golden glow, beeping as he does so. Hank puts the screwdriver away and folds his arms as he settles onto the couch.

 

“There, your son’s happy now.”

 

“...Hank, I just happened to call Bob my son by accident _one time_.”

 

“One time’s more than enough.”

 

“Well, if I recall, you were the one who kept insisting that I had adopted him.”

 

The couch dips as Connor settles in next to Hank. Sumo pads into the living room, sniffing at Bob in greeting and then wandering over to rest his head on his owner’s lap and nose at Connor’s knee.

 

Connor pats him in return, strokes the old dog’s fur slowly. “I guess this means you’re the older brother now, Sumo.”

 

Then he reaches over to rest a hand on Hank’s thigh. “He is your son too, you know.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank draws his hand over his face and shakes his head.

 

The merry symphony of beeps, pitched staccatos, carries on, only interrupted by the occasional thud of Bob’s plastic bumper against the wall.

 

Above, next to the new wall lamp, is the shelf that Connor had put in the other day - on it, childish smile locked for eternity, is a picture of Cole beaming in a younger Hank’s arms.

 

But there’s also Sumo’s chew toy, next to three tiny succulent pots standing in a row, and Connor's DPD badge and Bob's remote. And at the very end, is a picture of them all. And Hank's older in that picture, worn-down and weary, but the stiff smile is genuine all the same.

 

“Fucking hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have so much feelings about roombas, I'm going to add on a couple of epilogues about their life together with Bob.
> 
> Bob is the best roomba, only slightly bested by Beatle, my own roomba.
> 
>  
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sushicorps.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sushicorps/)


	3. Fanart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fanart of Bob from my amazing friend Peggy <3 Please shower her[ art ](https://twitter.com/peggyshrooms/status/1025798990875439105?s=03)with a lot of love!**


	4. Chapter 4

If he’s completely honest to himself, Hank doesn’t know the first thing when it comes to a family.

 

Back before, on the quiet and too long nights, when it had just been him perched on the dining room chair with Sumo’s noisy snores on his lap, he had liked to think that he once did.

 

And yeah, Hank’ll be piss-drunk and stinking to high heaven and barely able to read the numbers on the clock ticking down to wee morning, but he would sit there think he still _does,_ drink another sip of brandy and _hope_ that he does anyway, thinking of the what ifs and could have beens and ignoring the fact that none of those will come true.

 

Now, sometimes, he still sits in that chair because insomnia’s a motherfucking asshole, with Sumo’s head in his lap, but instead he has a cup of this...what’s this now, “Sleepytime Soothing Wellness Tea”, and if he doesn’t quit it and try to go to bed soon, Connor’s going to send out Three to play one of those stupid instrumental calming meditative tracks.

 

And if he even thinks about reaching for the bottle of red in the fridge, (it’s just red wine and it’d been a Christmas party gift anyway)....

 

Connor’s Health and Wellness program is a _bitch._

 

Family.

 

Ha.

 

But he knows this: Family is still family, even if that family just happens to be a little more...extraordinary than most.

 

* * *

 

Family is still family, even if that family just happens to be a little more...extraordinary than most.

 

Sometimes, that means making concessions.

 

So when Connor comes home with a familiar round metallic shape tucked under his arm, Hank just gives a grumpy harrumph and doesn’t mention it.

 

This goes on for the third one. And the fourth. And the fifth. (Hank had given up keeping track after that).

 

The one good thing about a family full of roombas is that Hank's house has never been cleaner. The floor's so spick and span that he swears he could probably eat off it.

 

He wakes up every morning to the buzz of mini brushes sweeping away on tile that he’s grown too used to and wanders bleary eyed to the kitchen, stepping out of the way of Roomba Two who is bumping into the doorframe and Roomba Three who is skidding like a maniac across the kitchen floor. He sets Roomba Four back on the floor from where it had gotten caught on the wall ledge, sets it down before picking up his coffee cup, still yawning.

 

And then there’s that fucker Jason.

 

The steel grey roomba has somehow ended on the kitchen counter again, beeping desperately for help. Hank just sighs and plucks it up with one hand along with his morning cereal (some whole multigrain nonsense Connor had picked up at the store).

 

Bob comes careening in after him, little vacuum in a whirling frenzy on the floor until it gets to the middle and stops. It beeps once, twice, then plays a sad little tune.

 

“Hank,” Connor says, disappointed.

 

Hank just stares at Bob, then at Connor, then back at Bob, then at Connor, because what- oh.

 

Connor deflates even more, which is impossible, because he is an android and nothing about this situation is even logical-

 

Bob’s sad little tune plays on.

 

Hank grabs the cereal box and sticks it out over the table, before slowly and deliberately tipping it over. The little nuggets of dried cereal go pitter patter over the floor, only to be sucked up by a voracious brrrr of Bob’s vacuum.

 

Somedays nowadays, Hank thinks to himself: How is this his life now?

 

Somedays, like today, Hank thinks to himself: _How_ is this his life now?

 

* * *

 

 

Family is still family, even if that family just happens to be a little more...extraordinary than most.

 

Sometimes, that means making a little sacrifice.

 

...but this? This is just ridiculous.

 

The bloody alarm goes off again and Hank groans and throws his arm over his eyes as he futile attempts to bury himself deeper into the pile of couch cushions as if that could cut off that incessant siren. He can’t turn off his phone because he’s technically on call from DPD, but he can’t stop the incessant notifications too.

 

They usually go to Connor.

 

He’s the one that takes better care of them than Hank, he knows them so well he can get to them before they lurch into the throes of peril and danger. Must be some electronic computer gizmack mind synchro thing.

 

But Connor’s on a stakeout today, so the alarms have all been routed to Hank’s phones.

 

And by alarms….it’s:

 

POTATO CHIP: ALERT: CLIFF. ALERT: CLIFF. ALERT: CLIFF. ALERT: CLIFF.

 

Hank scowls at his screen, eyes bleary at the light and he grudgingly picks himself up from the - warmth! comfort! peaceful, blissful _silence! -_ and walks towards where he’s being directed to the blinking dot.

 

Potato Chip, the red and yellow roomba, with a merry sunflower painted on it from a memorable summer afternoon a few months past, is trapped. Chip's wheels are whirring uselessly, its motorised brush scrabbling madly for purchase but the surface is plastic smooth. The distress light on its screen blinks over and over again in the darkness as it slides ever so slowly down and down and-

 

The roomba is stuck on the base of a lamp.

 

Hank stares, then draws his hand over his face and picks up the roomba, setting it firmly on the ground to continue its madcap course around the room. Four blinks up in blue twice in gratitude, then slowly moves off straight for the corner of the room.

 

Maybe now he can have some peace and-

 

A beeping starts sounding out again.

 

“Oh fuck’s sake Jason how did you get on top of that bookshelf?!”

 

* * *

 

Family is still family, even if that family is a little more...extraordinary than most.

 

Sometimes, that means  doing a little more, even when no one’s watching.

 

It’s been a case too long, a shift gone on too late. He’s sent Connor home before him, around midnight, because the other’s battery had been flagging low. There is a charging port in the office, Connor had protested, but Hank had cited the (infernal menace) roombas running wild at home with worry and insisted.

 

The paperwork had turned out to be more of a bitch than he’d expected, just the thing they’d needed on top of a bust that had stretched on for weeks.

 

So it’s nearly five and light out when he’s stumbling back home, bleary with the need for sleep and grumbling all the way, the only thing he wants right now being his _bed-_

 

And then he sees Connor, slumped over by the couch, eyes closed.

 

His LED ring is still flagging, a slow fading white flash.

 

….Connor probably hadn’t wanted to go into sleep mode for charging, was keeping up for him for some stupid reason even though Hank had clearly told him he needed to go get charged that dumb, ridiculous Android-

 

Connor’s charging port is by the door, to make it easier for him to get a quick charge when they’re back, but they’d gotten wires long enough to extend through most of the house now. He grabs them and yanks them over, latching on the surface conduits for the charging to begin, watching Connor’s LED switch to a bright, swirling white light.

 

“...Hank?” Connor stirs.

 

The couch’ll do, Hank thinks. He’s gonna regret it in his back tomorrow morning, but fuck it.

 

So he flops onto the couch right next to Connor, throws his head back and lets a loud yawn overtake him.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep Connor.”

 

* * *

 

 Family is still family, even if that family is a little more...extraordinary than most.

 

Hank’s got a family now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have ten roombas now and their roombas names are: Bob, Two, Three, (Fucking Hell) Four, Lily, Jason, Potato Chip, Peanut, Pirate and The Greatest Roomba Alive.
> 
> I've had this in my working document for ages, just that life happened and promptly went to batshit chaos. 
> 
> There's a couple more mini little shots in their lives I'm working on, but since each of them are standalones, will leave this as complete and add onto it as it goes, so feel free to continue following if you'd like.
> 
> Once again, thank you all for your feedback on this little story!


End file.
